


Dead Fish

by marxeism



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Burns, Electrocution, He doesn't deserve this shit, Hospital, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Major Injury, Original villain - Freeform, Pain, Peter Parker Pity Party, Peter Parker is a kid, Sort Of, Torture, Whump, Worried Tony Stark, burn injury, medical treatment, oh well, shocking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-20 07:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11916591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marxeism/pseuds/marxeism
Summary: Peter doesn't know when to shut up when it comes to fighting. He calls it stalling. Mr. Stark calls it idiocy. Either way, neither of them expect it to kill him.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter’s first memory of death could be traced precisely to his seventh birthday. The clarity of the event has stayed resilient through the years, never fading in his mind. It isn’t that he thinks about it all the time, it had just been one of those days. Just as he can remember, with strange accuracy, the time his yogurt cup had exploded on the inside of his Iron Man lunchbox. Some memories just stuck. 

And so, if he wants to, Peter can close his eyes and transport himself to his parents living room. If he tries hard enough, he can see his birthday present; a goldfish ironically named Fin. Almost as an outsider, he can watch himself pull the small creature out of the water, wishing for nothing more than to cuddle the tiny thing, as one would a dog. Of course, the fish flops and gasps until its weak heart gives out and it goes completely still. 

When his mother comes in to find him crying and pushing the corpse around to see if it would move, she explains it. So, that day, Peter does not only learn about the meaning of death, but also of the fragility of life. How, even with the best intentions, his misguided actions would always have consequences. 

His second experience in the way of mortality is not as direct and a million times more painful. When his Aunt May had knelt in front of him, trying to explain through teary eyes that his mother and father had perished in an accident, Peter learns that loss could hit anywhere, at any time. 

The third time, Peter watches his uncle shot. Ben’s eyes are clouded with pain and blood loss when he whispered a few words that stay with his nephew forever.  _ With great power comes great responsibility.  _ With brand new talents and skills, comes the duty to use them not for himself, but for others. The obligation to save lives and studiously adhere to a strict moral code that most other kids would never even have to worry about. 

When Peter comes face to face with death for the fourth and fifth time, he’s Spider-Man. He has been dropped into the water, tangled inside his own parachute. He has been crushed by a collapsed building, calling for help to an abandoned landscape. Mr. Stark has taught him that he could rely on others to have his back. Adrian Toomes has taught him that, when it came down to it, Peter is on his own. He only has his own weakness to blame for his misadventures. 

The next time death appears, it comes after Peter Parker. The kid is out for lunch with his mentor - the one and only Tony Stark, who he still has trouble believing he gets to see on a regular basis.

Mr. Stark doesn’t like to make a big deal when they go out in public, so they’re at a busy corner deli. The genius has half of a reuben left on his plate, and Peter has his own club sandwich. Happy is at a table next to them, studiously replying to emails and texts on his phone (Peter doesn’t understand why Happy never replies to his texts, seeing as the man spends so much time online). Every few minutes, the conversation halta as somebody walks up to Mr. Stark and asks for an autograph. 

To be honest, Peter is enjoying it. He feels a little bit warmer inside every time a little kid skips away giddily. Mr. Stark is a good person. Peter wishes he could make kids happy in that same way, but Spider-Man and Iron Man have two very different reps. Peter appears in some youtube videos, Mr. Stark is world famous. So, although Peter can’t be the distributer of childhood happiness himself, he likes to watch and remember when he stood in a child’s place. 

“I drew a picture of you!” The little kid is wearing a sundress and cartoonish sneakers. Their hair is short and Peter can’t really discern their gender. That makes him even a bit happier. When the kid passes the drawing to Mr. Stark, the man smiles as well. 

“Hey kid,” Mr. Stark is addressing Peter, not the actual child. When Peter looks up, he sees a crayon drawing of three superheroes. Iron Man is in the middle, drawn with more skill that Peter probably has in art. Standing next to the centerpiece is Captain America, and on the other side, which Mr. Stark gracefully points out, is a drawing of Peter. 

Well, it’s not Peter so to speak, but it is Spider-Man and he’s wearing a pink u shaped smile and holding the hand of what Peter supposes is the kid. So, no, it’s not Peter’s face, but that’s probably a good thing, since said face is, at the moment, bright red and hidden behind his hands. “Oh my God…” Peter mumbles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His cheeks stretching to the point where they hurt as he listens to the marker scratching across the paper.

“So you like Spider-Man, huh?” Mr. Stark asks, Peter peaks at the child through his fingers. He wants to know the kid’s name so badly. 

“He’s my favorite superhero!” Comes the reply, and holy shit Peter’s pretty sure he’s going to die. 

Before Peter can implode any more than he already has (and at this point his back is on the bottom of his seat, so it’s not much further) a woman marches in and grabs the kid’s hand. She smiles at Mr. Stark,  then looks down at the ground and up again. 

“Thank you so much, Sir,” She nods, red lipstick smile showing too many teeth, “But Bradley has to go ho-” 

Peter doesn’t really know what happens next. His nerves had been tingling since the kid started speaking to them, but Peter thought it was just the bashfulness. His mind changes quickly, when he feels a hand jerking him up by the hair. 

It takes a blink. His hands have already been grabbed and tied behind his back with thick, blistering rope. He’s handed off to a really, really tall guy who holds his arms so that his feet barely touch the ground and  _ shit  _ struggling is only making his shoulders hurt more. Peter wouldn’t be surprised if his joints pop out of place in about a second. 

By the time Peter’s bound and thrashing about like his seventh birthday present, Mr. Stark has just stood up from his seat. There are already guns surrounding the man, so Peter stops moving. Apparently, so does Mr. Stark.

“Okay, Stark, let’s get started,” The man who speaks doesn’t look very evil villain-like. He’s short and fat, and his voice is scratchy. He takes something out of his bag and puts it around Peter’s neck. 

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, ready to be strangled by the metal chain but nothing happens. When he opens his eyes there’s a large medallion on his chest. It glows neon blue and his senses are tingling,  _ bad bad bad.  _

“You’re Parker, right?” The guy puts a hand on Peter’s face and tuts, “It would be a shame if I have to kill you,”

“Don’t touch him,” Mr. Stark growls, and Peter isn’t the only one surprised by the intensity. The guy in front of him spins around, and Peter can’t see his face anymore. 

“You see that necklace I just gave your kid -intern, right-? That’s actually extremely valuable, I made it myself,” The guy lifts his hand and Peter sees some sort of device in it. When he presses his thumb down there’s a bolt of pain that starts in Peter’s chest and shoots throughout his body. 

It isn’t that bad, he’s definitely had worse, but he still yelps at the surprise of it. Mr. Stark’s eyes are wide across the table.

“Yeah, it’s a gift,” the guy flips the small control in his hand, “You should really be thanking me for it.”

Peter looks from the necklace to Mr. Stark. He gives the best nonchalant smile he can muster and tries to shrug, even though it hurts his shoulders, hoping that Mr. Stark understands that  _ he’s okay.  _ It doesn’t matter that the evil short guy’s eyes narrow and his thumb comes down on the button again. This time, the teenager grits his teeth, and stares back defiantly. 

Evil Short Guy - Peter decides that’s his name now - tries to cover his growing anger with a chuckle as he turns back to Mr. Stark. “Tough kid, granted that is the lowest of twenty settings,” He sighs, “What I’m trying to say, is that as soon as I see you even try to make a move, I’ll kill the kid. I could stop his heart instantly, or I could fry him alive. Or, I could even let him live. The choice is your’s, Stark.” 

As if to prove his point, Evil Short Guy messes with something on his controller, and the necklace turns green. He presses the button again. This time, it’s not a jolt so much as it’s a burn. It’s not as if Peter can resist jerking at the pain, but he’s still disappointed in his own lack of self-control. Peter gapes at his own chest. There had been a moment of intense heat centered under his clavicle, and now he can smell the burnt fibers of his scorched shirt over a suddenly raw patch near his pectorals. 

“What do you want?” Spits Mr. Stark, and Peter almost thinks he sees concern flash in the man’s eyes. He isn’t sure he understands. When it comes down to it, Peter, and the rest of the world, know who the more important person is. 

Sure, human life is important, but Peter’s a relatively low-stakes captive. If he dies, that’s okay. Peter knew what he was getting into when he agreed to go to Germany with Mr. Stark. He’s pretty much signed the superhero waiver, he knows he can die, knows he can be injured, lose his privacy and identity. So even though any signature isn’t technically valid until Peter’s eighteen, he knows the risks, and he’s okay with them. 

Peter is replaceable, Tony Stark is not. Whatever Evil Short Guy wants to use Mr. Stark’s to help him destroy is not. Iron Man is a worldwide hero. Spider-Man is not. Peter’s already forgotten about self-preservation and is planning to execute his own plan when he hears a whimper. 

And suddenly, Peter is looking at a small child cowering underneath a table adjacent to the one he had just been sitting at. Their mom is nowhere in sight. His throat closes up a little because  _ he’s my favorite superhero  _ and God if he means that much to this one little kid maybe he should try to find another way out of this mess. 

Happy is not sitting in the restaurant anymore, which is good. Because that means the man managed to escape in the confusion and is probably going to bring back help. So then, this will all just resolve itself in a matter of time. The trick of the game will be to make sure nothing actually  _ happens  _ in that time. Peter can manage that. 

He realizes that he forgot to listen to the entire villain spiel when he decides that his new plan is simply to stall. It’s a good thing that the guy seems to talk in essay format and is just now getting to the conclusion. 

“If you think about it,” Evil Short Guy says, “They deserve it. It sends a message that, well, this is what happens when you interfere with free speech. They will not replace us, there’s a reason we’re the supreme race. We’ve always been.”

“Of fucking course it’s another neo-nazi.” Mr. Stark’s annoyance is practically palpable. Peter’s smart. He recognizes the phrase from the news and wonders how there’s not enough shit in the world for Evil Short Guy already. Probably because he’s evil and short kind of like…

“Lord Farquaad!” Peter blurts out. His hands instinctively go to cover his mouth, but they’re still tied up and held by the big guy next to him. Mr. Stark is looking at him in pure confusion and Evil Short Guy - actually, Peter decides to change the name to Farquaad - still just looks angry. 

“Excuse me?” Farquaad asks, and Peter tries so hard to keep his cheeks from turning pink. Usually, he would never say anything like that, not without a mask. That’s the kind of thing Spider-Man says before a fight, the kind of thing Peter Parker would never have the confidence for. But, Peter had decided to stall and now he guesses he has to run with it. So he pretends he’s wearing his suit, and he replies. 

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just- That’s who you remind me of,” Peter says and it’s stupid and immature and he can see Mr. Stark shaking his head and mouthing the word  _ stop.  _ Of course though, he doesn’t. “Lord Farquaad from Shrek? I mean- he’s short and angry and rich and entitled, a lot like you are.”

Immediately, Mr. Stark’s furrowed brow morphs into wide-eyed horror. Farquaad is practically steaming, and Peter regrets ever having said anything. He’s pretty sure Farquaad is ready to kill him, and he would feel bad dying in front of a child. Wasn’t the plan to stay alive anyways? 

Farquaad is messing with the dials again and Peter tenses, readying himself for a world of pain. It comes as he expects it to, flashes between burns and shocks, definitely a few settings more powerful than it had been the first time. 

Peter bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet, but his body jerks and he can smell his own burning skin. He already tastes blood filling his mouth. His eyes are scrunched but he can still see flashes of white when the electricity hits him. 

Peter knows it only lasts a couple of seconds, but by the time it’s over he feels like a couple hours could have passed. He can just barely hear Mr. Stark repeating his name over the static buzzing in his ears. He sits frozen for a few seconds, muscles painfully clenched.

“Yeah,” he gasps, when he finds that he can work his jaw again. His mouth tastes like smoke and sweet blood. He really hopes that Mr. Stark can’t see the red specks when he tries to grin, “Don’t worry, Mr. Stark, I’m good. All good.”

If anything, Mr. Stark seems to worry more. But Peter is pretty sure they’ve gotten through at least ten minutes and if Farquaad is anything like Peter thinks he is then the man will take a few more to brood. Indeed, his casual attitude has the guy practically flailing. It’s almost worth the pain to see a white supremacist freaking out this much.

“You insolent child, you have no idea what’s good for you, do you?” Drops of spittle land on Peter’s face and he flinches back. 

“Dude, that is gross!” Peter replies and he really really hopes that Happy gets back with help soon. He hopes that Happy went to get help in the first place. Because otherwise Peter is so very screwed. 

“Shut up!” Farquaad all but shouts. 

“Yeah, I gotta second Lord Farquaad on that one, kid. Close your piehole,” Mr. Stark’s voice is casual and normal, but his narrowed eyes tell Peter that the guy isn’t messing around. Peter bites his lip. They’re getting nowhere real slow but that’s the point isn’t it?

Happy really should be back by now. Peter was really hoping to be done taking blows by this point. He scans what he can of the dining room. It seems as if everybody has left when the trouble started, which is good. If he listens closely enough he can hear chattering outside, and he thinks he picks up some more commanding voices, which he hopes belong to cops or something. 

“Just tell me how to create that sort of weapon and we can leave this all behind us, nobody gets hurt,” Farquaad says, hands up mock submission. It isn’t lost on any of them that the guy is still holding a device that could very easily end Peter’s life. 

“Except all the protesters you’re planning to kill?” Mr. Stark smirks with sardonic amusement. Peter wishes he could be this casual in such a high-pressure situation. Yeah, the kid can ramble endlessly, but he always freaks out at the same time. Mr. Stark, on the other hand, can shoot off sarcastic one-liners for days. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna help you out there. Wish i could say I’m sorry, but, you know, I’m really not.”

Surprisingly, Farquaad keeps his composure this time. He simply shrugs, dramatically lifts his hand, and sends another wave of electricity at Peter. 

It’s higher this time, sharper. Peter is pretty sure he can feel his heart skipping a beat as his muscles jerk and seize. It’s messing up his neurons, he thinks. The brain to movement connectors keep being overridden and reset, and Peter doesn’t think it will cause any permanent damage but he crosses his fingers anyways.

He tries to keep himself relaxed, let whatever’s going to happen happen and deal with the consequences once it’s all over. When he can control the small muscles in his face again, he smiles at the kid under the table. The kid isn’t returning the gaze, but looking around the room in wonder. When Peter follows suit he can’t help the grin that comes to his face.

They’re surrounded again, but now it’s the good guys. They’ve secured every corner of the room and have their guns pointed at Farquaad and his goons. He doesn’t know if any commands or threats have been exchanged yet, there’s buzzing in his ears and ringing in his head. 

He does see Mr. Stark jump forward and wrestle the controller out of Farquaad’s hands. But the short guy puts his all into the fight, like he knows there’s nothing to lose. Mr. Stark’s unrelenting determination in this fight is stunning. But, it doesn’t seem to have good effects on Peter’s health. 

Mr. Stark and Farquaad are inadvertently turning knobs and pressing buttons. When the amulet shines bright green light and illuminates the room, Peter assumes it’s at full power. He’s about to shout a warning to his mentor, but it’s too late.

Mr. Stark manages to get Farquaad’s hands off of the remote, but not before the trigger is deployed. The control falls to the ground, and Farquaad kicks it underneath a soda machine. Mr. Stark flies after it. 

There’s a moment of disconnect where Peter can see the lost remote, smell his flesh burning, and then all there is is pain and it feels like somebody’s just spilled hot oil on his chest and all he can hear is his own broken screams. 

He’s on the ground, curled on his side, trying to protect what he can of his body, but when he pulls his knees up against his chest, they burn too, and when he tries to claw the necklace off, his hands recoil automatically. 

When he feels pressure pulling his knees and hands away from the  _ pain _ he tries to fight it.  _ No, no, no, please no. _ He’s not sure if he’s talking or not, but he hopes they hear his pleas, he hopes they take pity. The pain is growing by the moment and it’s not going to  _ stop please stop. It hurts so much. _

There are hands on his shoulders, shaking him. When Peter opens the eyes he didn’t ever realize were shut, he sees Mr. Stark. The man’s mouth opens and closes, speaking words that Peter can’t hear. When he realizes who it is, he allows the hands to move him. Mr. Stark reaches towards Peter and flinches away. When his hands grow close again, Peter’s eyes follow them to his chest. 

It must hurt Mr. Stark’s hands when he grasps the chain and pulls it. Peter’s eyes go wide when the thing comes up, layers of melted following it. Peter looks back down at the black, leathery circle of skin surrounding white, red, and brown patch - is it even skin anymore? It looks like charred bones and-

_ He’s going to die. Oh my God, he’s going to die. It hurts, it hurts so much and he’s going to die.  _ He knows, and, judging by the heart-wrenching look on his mentor’s face, Mr. Stark knows too. 

Peter wants to close his eyes to the pain. He wants to go to sleep and stop feeling because it just hurts and it’s too much. There’s a hand on his face. Mr. Stark’s expressions contorted like he’s crying, or shouting, or both, and Peter wishes he wouldn’t. 

It makes him feel so guilty. Here’s Mr. Stark, trying to keep him awake and alive, and all Peter can think about is the pain. He wishes he could thank the other man for the superhero experience, for the lunch. He also wishes he could apologize for all the pain he knows he’s caused and is currently causing. Mostly, he just wishes he could pass out, but darkness refuses to come. 

He tries to reach Mr. Stark’s back. There’s only enough energy to use one arm, but Peter kind of wants a hug. Because he considered -is it too early to use past tense?- Mr. Stark a friend and friends show each other affection. He can only reach so high before he feels the skin on his chest stretching and he halts. Mr. Stark seems to understand, though, and thankfully takes Peter’s hand in his own, still speaking words that his tired, pain-riddled brain can’t quite apprehend. 

The next time Peter blinks, Mr. Stark is gone, replaced by a woman wearing all green. She’s moving her mouth too, but he still can’t discern the words. When she pauses, it looks like she’s waiting for Peter to do something. He doesn’t know what. She steps back after a second and suddenly there are more hands on him. 

He thinks he’s still crying when they strap him into the stretcher, and it’s embarrassing as hell. He watches the ceiling change as they wheel him away, but the tops of heads and beginnings of faces are still making their way into his sight. 

Peter hopes it’s a good thing that he can feel the prick of a needle on the back of his hand, hopes it means his nerves aren’t all dead. It takes all the strength he can muster to turn his head and see the catheter being taped down. There’s a bag of fluids next to him, and he can see the woman from before injecting something else into the line. 

He looks away, back towards the roof of this ambulance. 

The next time Peter’s eyes close, they don’t open. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, our villain is based off of a mixture of Farquaad and white supremacists in Charlottesville. There will be one more chapter to describe the medical consequences, Tony's mental state, and a bonus scene.
> 
> Always feel free to follow my tumblr at repti-fandom-person.tumblr.com. I would love to talk to anyone and make friends.
> 
> Comments are always awesome too


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support from the first chapter! 
> 
> I love reading comments and answering questions and you all gave that to me this week. I'm really grateful, so, honestly, thank you. 
> 
> That being said, this chapter has two bits. Mostly, it's recovery and that necessary dose of comfort. The second part is what I'm calling a "bonus scene". It's something that a kind of just really wanted to write, so I did. Although I don't encourage skipping it, the bonus is, admittedly, not as strongly connected to the rest of the plot. 
> 
> If you enjoy it, come hang out with me on tumblr as repti-fandom-person.tumblr.com or leave me a comment. They honestly make my day. 
> 
> I'm going to be writing a lot more sm:h stuff with a lot of injured and hurt Peter. It took me by surprise exactly how much I LOVED this movie. And, as always, when I love things, i break them.
> 
> And a reminder: Although I hope to be someday, I am not yet a doctor in any right.

 

Tony Stark has his own, patented… everything. He built the self-adjusting chair he’s sitting on, laid out the building he’s inside, designed the clothing on his back. 

It’s a point of pride. Although he truly is not, it makes him feel self-reliant and capable. It’s like he’s created the entire world around him, items sprouting to existence from his mind. He knows it’s probably an effect of a childhood full of neglect and residual narcissism through years of therapy. But that’s just it, his own creations help Tony feel less anxious, more like he’s in control of his own life. 

He hates the feeling of powerlessness, so he keeps it as far away as he possibly can. It appears occasionally anyways, when he’s fighting Steve, when his own arc reactor was slowly poisoning his body. 

When he watches Peter…

Tony is sitting in his own chair, in his own building, in front of his own machinery that’s hooked up to a kid he has come to see as his own as well.

_ Glassy eyes. Peter pleading with him to “Stop, please stop”. Peter professing that he was going to die. Peter crying and gasping and curled up in pain. Peter actually, truly, fading away and Tony Stark unable to do shit about it.  _

He has to shake the images out of his head, but, truly, to focus on the vulnerable, still body in front of him is not much better. He had insisted that Peter be brought to his own medical facility, knowing how upset Peter would be if he wakes up in a hospital.  _ When he wakes up  _ he corrects himself. 

The thing is, he doesn’t know that Peter will wake up. The doctors have said he would, and Tony trusts them, but it feels like the entire world has gone into stasis. Everything has stopped  and is as frozen and dead as Peter looks. How is the kid going to wake up if the world around him has ceased just as he has?

God, Tony needs to get his hands on something. He needs to tinker or build, but he can’t even do  _ that _ because his hands sting every time he moves them. They’re wrapped and covered in gauze and Tony feels like an asshole because he’s complaining about the discomfort while Peter is literally covered in third and fourth degree burns. 

Tony’s hands will be better in a couple of days. Peter’s chest needed to be surgically dissected so that he would be able to breathe. Just thinking about it puts a new lump in Tony’s throat. The scar tissue had been so constricting that there was no other choice to avoid suffocation and unmanageable pressure in his chest. 

There’s the knowledge that this is his fault. This has nothing to do with the kid’s arachnid activity, there was no way their attackers could have known about the secret identity. Peter had gotten hurt - practically tortured, simply because he was with the wrong person at the wrong time. 

Of course, Tony is aware that not  _ all _ of the blame falls on his shoulders, only most of it. Everybody knows that the kid never shuts up. Tony’s pretty sure that if he were to stick Peter in an isolated, sound-proof room, the kid would still talk to himself. 

It’s not a bad thing- not always. It’s how Peter copes, and, as far as coping mechanisms go, it’s not a bad one. Tony can definitely speak for that, based on years of substance addiction and self-destructive behavior. At least Peter can sort through his emotions without harming anybody. 

Except, Peter doesn’t seem to understand that sometimes he just needs to shut up. And that little detail is what lands the fifteen year old boy in a hospital room pumped full of painkillers and IV fluids. He’s got to teach Peter that the kid doesn’t need to take everything on his little shoulders. 

Peter just doesn’t get that he doesn’t have to leave every situation with new scars. Tony can take care of himself, he’s been through all of it before. He’s an adult and Peter’s just a kid. Goddamn it, he’s just a kid. He’s delicate and soft and has no sense of self-preservation. It was Tony’s job to teach him, mentor him, and he’s failed spectacularly. 

When May walks in, he expects her to yell at him. He’s gotten used to her lectures when Peter comes home from patrol with bruises or scrapes. He gave her his number because, c’mon, he  _ is _ her kid for crying out loud. So, when Peter gets home past curfew, or sleeps in, or misses some school, he gets a phone call and he knows to turn down the volume and hold the cell away from his ear to avoid hearing damage. 

May isn’t yelling at him, though. She takes one look at Peter, at the bandages around his neck, and hands, and chest, and she looks heartbroken. She’s never seen Peter this bad before; neither of them have. May takes the seat that Tony had been sitting in earlier and gently wraps her hands around her nephew’s. 

When she can finally tear her gaze from Peter and lands her eyes on Tony, he expects to see anger. But no, May is looking at him with sadness and sorrow and tears in her eyes. It’s almost worse. Scratch that - it’s definitely worse. A lot worse. 

Tony isn’t a hugger, but when May wraps her arms around him and begins crying into his shoulder, he can’t bring himself to push her away. Minutes later she pulls them apart herself, keeping her hands on Tony’s shoulders. If he’s tearing up a little bit, she doesn’t mention it. 

“How is he?” She asks him. She takes her glasses off to wipe water from the lenses, and he uses the chance to compose himself again. 

“He’ll… heal,” Is what Tony manages to say first. That’s what the doctors tell him, that Peter’s burns, in a few weeks or months, shouldn’t cause him very much trouble at all. “His worst burns were in his chest, where… you know-”  _ where the weapon lay, sweltering, glowing.  _

“Alright, what did they do to help Peter?” May snaps him out of the memory, and Tony feels like he should be better than this - knows that he should be better than this. May truly and completely loves her nephew, while Tony’s relationship with the kid started as a way to make himself and his team  _ better.  _ He had wanted to win a fight, and he knows that the only reason he approached Peter in the first place had been for his own gain. The least Tony can do now is be there for the kid’s family. 

“They grafted skin where they needed to and dressed everything. They were worried about the injuries on his torso interrupting blood flow or becoming too restrictive, so they did what they could there…” Tony opts not to give details on the procedure, it’s too much, even for him. He’s glad when May doesn’t ask. “Thank God he won’t be able to feel the worst of it- deep burns impair the nerves, so…” 

Tony shrugs, and May’s satisfied nod makes him feel a little bit better. He hasn’t ruined everything yet, so that’s good. That’s a good thing. 

When he seats himself in the chair next to May’s, he doesn’t feel nearly as intimidated by the woman. He knows that she does everything in her power to make sure her nephew is okay, and, honestly, Tony does the same. 

“Peter told me he was going to lunch with you,” May says, after a few minutes of silence, “When the news came on the television, I prayed it wasn’t him. They said there were hostages. But, Peter always has to go and get himself into trouble,” Her eyes slide to Tony’s and he takes the queue. 

“Yeah, I know that,” He chuckles. The boy’s face looks softer now - more like he’s resting and less like he’s sedated, “He’s a good kid, May. You raised a really good kid.”

She smiles at him and runs her hand over Peter’s, stopping at the tube on the back of his palm, “What are they giving him?” She asks. Her hand moves to Peter’s forehead to brush the hair off of his face, “Do you know?”

“Yeah,” Tony replies. He doesn’t need to think, he knows everything they’ve medicated the kid with, “Yeah, they gave him ketamine in the ambulance, propofol to keep him out during surgery. Right now, all he’s getting is fluids. Apparently, burns aren’t great for hydration, who would’ve guessed?” 

May turns her head to give him a look that very clearly states ‘ _ now is not the time for jokes.’  _ Tony swallows his pride and guilt and doesn’t say anything at all. 

The silence between the two adults has grown stiff and poignant by the time Peter begins to wake. 

He hasn’t been out for too long. It’s been maybe five hours since the incident in the deli reached the news, give or take, when his heart rate speeds up minutely and they hear the kid groan softly.

Between heavy blinks, Peter’s eyes open a little bit at a time, as if his eyelids are the heaviest things in the world. May’s holding his hand in an instant, and Tony’s hovering over him like a worried father. At the sensations, the kid frowns. 

“That’s it, Tiger. Take your time,” Tony can sympathize. Waking up from anesthesia is a weird experience, and they both know that Peter’s always thirsting for encouragement and praise. 

“We’re here, Peter. You can do it,” May adds, stroking his hand and his hair and wherever else she can reach the kid. 

Peter seems to take their words in stride, but he still takes his time in opening his eyes. Once he is looking at them properly, he smiles, eyes traveling between his two mentors. But then the kid is frowning. 

“Who-who are you?” 

Tony’s heart stops cold. 

The kid has amnesia. Fucking amnesia. May draws back in terror, questioning and gasping and horrified, “W-what?” She croaks, and Tony really has no idea how to answer her. Peter is looking at him vacantly.

“T-The electrocution-but they never… they never said anything about mem-memory,” He stutters and Dear God this is all his fault. 

Tony stumbles backwards until his hands find the wall, and he’s ready to run. To bolt and research whatever he can about memory loss and fix this because this is not okay. This is not o-fucking-kay. But before any of that can happen- before Tony can flee like the room has caught fire, the kid’s half-lidded, dopey face splits into a huge grin.

“You little shit!” 

Tony actually wants to kill Peter himself but he can’t deny the waves of relief washing over him. He falls back into a chair and tries to catch his breath while May laughs hysterically. Peter’s giggling to himself and Tony is ready to punch him in his soft and loveable face. 

“You-” May gasps, “You are so grounded. You are grounded for the rest of the year. No - you’re grounded for the rest of your life,” She’s shouting, but she’s also crying and laughing. There are a whole shit-ton of feelings in the room right now and it’s making Tony feel just a bit awkward but it’s okay, since Peter is alive and not amnesiac. 

“Hi, Aunt May,” Peter says, all half-lidded eyes and stupid smiles, “Hi, Mr. Stark. Did I do good?” 

“You got yourself unnecessarily injured, nearly gave me a heart attack, and freaked us all the hell out,” Tony replies, intent on chastising the kid. But Peter’s smile fades and his head drops and how the hell is Tony supposed to give him anything but praise? “Yeah, you did good kiddo. Now get some sleep.”

Peter hums in the back of his throat, and he smiles again. It doesn’t take him long to close his eyes and return to sleep. 

The kid brings out the best in him. Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let that go.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Bonus Scene**

 

Peter hasn’t been on patrol for a month. An entire month. There’s actual, physical itching under his skin telling him that he needs to fight crime before he forgets how. 

Ned has been coming over every single day, and they’ll play whatever video game they can get their hands on. 

Mr. Stark’s built Peter collapsible exercise equipment. He’s been building up to one hundred chinups and ten miles a day, and he’s finally gotten there. Running and reps aren’t enough. Even with the addition of action-packed video games.

Mr. Stark and Aunt May have agreed, this morning, that he’s allowed to go out as Spider-Man again. There are a million rules, of course, about how he’s not allowed out for more than three hours a day, he has to be home before dark, he needs to call Mr. Stark if anything,  _ anything _ goes wrong.

But he can wear his spandex and talk to Karen and do something  _ productive _ with his time. He’s excited as hell and, standing at the top of a building, scanning the New York City skyline, nothing’s going to bring him down. 

There’s not really much  _ to _ do at 2:00pm on a Sunday afternoon. He stops a couple of bike thieves, helps some elderly women cross the street, de-escalates fights and muggings, and hangs upside down from his webs to watch street performers play music. 

It’s just a really, really good day. The sun is shining, the weather’s clear, and there’s a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man swinging through the city. 

When his stomach begins to grumble, Peter does the smart thing. He stops slinging webs and buys a few sandwiches at a local business. He hands two or three out to the homeless he comes across- people who look hungry and deserve a lot more than what the government and the world gives them.

The last one, he keeps for himself. He finds an apartment complex overlooking a playground. There are kids all over the place, in various ages and states of play. He sits on the fire escape of, legs swinging over the ledge, and watches. 

Honestly, it looks like fun. Peter wouldn’t mind joining in the games if it weren’t completely and utterly awkward. Alas, he seems to old now to play zombie tag with a bunch of ten year olds. 

Still, he watches and he listens. His face breaks out into a grin when he sees a familiar face. Peter had been wondering what had happened to the kid for a while now. He’d even remembered the name, Bradley. 

Bradley is wearing a skirt and striped shirt while they run around the playground, chasing and being chased by other kids their age. Peter would be lying to say he isn’t envious of the light up sketchers Bradley’s got velcroed to their feet. 

When their game of tag ends, Peter’s getting ready to head out. He pulls his mask back over his face and stands when he hears pieces of conversation floating up from below. He stops, and decides it isn’t eavesdropping if he’s listening to playground talk.

“Are you a boy or a girl?” A kid in a blue hat asks Bradley, and Peter decides he wants to get a little bit closer. 

“Neither,” Bradley shrugs, simply. Their mother, Peter recognizes when her toothy smile appears, nods in approval. 

“Nu-uh! You have to have boy parts or girl parts. So are you a boy or a girl?” Peter knows it’s not their fault. They don’t understand gender. Bradley’s mom is standing up to get them away from the other children, but Peter’s got her beat. 

He lands behind Bradley softly, and the kids and adults surrounding them freeze. Bradley is still sputtering and red, but they follow the gaze of the others and gasp when Spider-Man is standing a foot away from them. Peter puts a hand on their shoulder, and pretends not to feel the weightlessness of a kid watching him in complete awe. 

“Bradley’s not a boy or a girl,” He says, in his best adult voice, “They’re a superhero,” Bradley looks like they’ve been to the moon. 

_ “Peter, to get home at five pm, I would advise you depart now,”  _ Damn it. He can’t break one of the rules on his first day back. He smiles. He’s done what he came here to do. 

“Be yourself,” Peter kneels down, speaking directly to Bradley, “Don’t let anybody tell you to be somebody else,” 

The advice, he knows, is sound. It’s like something May had told him, all those years ago. It’s also really cliche and it sounds like a cat poster, but Peter decides he’s okay with that. 

It’s not like he has much time to revise it anyways. He shoots a web and is about to swing away when a small voice stops him. 

“Mr. Spider-Man,” Bradley calls, “Do you think I can be a superhero when I grow up?”

“Totally!” Peter replies, and he stops trying to sound like a mature, adult, Spider-Man, “I’ll tell you what; When I become an Avenger and I see you helping the small guys, I’ll make sure you get on the team with me. Okay?” 

If it’s possible, Bradley beams even more. Peter takes it as his cue to leave, and he propels himself away until he can’t see the playground or the building and he’s hanging on to the wall outside his own window. 

By the time he’s taken a shower and changed, Aunt May is waiting in the kitchen with an early dinner. 

For the first time in a while, Peter feels perfectly content. Because sometimes, the goldfish doesn’t die. Sometimes, there are no casualties. Sometimes, Peter can help his community even without shooting webs. Some days-Some days are just good days. 

Even though he’s small, and plain idiotic at times, Peter helps people in a way none of the other Avengers do. He sees them- as more than civilians. He sees them, and he sees himself, and he knows that there’s no way he’ll ever allow himself to let them down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, again. 
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> I do headcanon Peter as trans. I relate to him a hell of a lot, so when I write him, I write from my own head without as much of a filter on character voice. So, my Peter Parker is a trans boy, like me. It's never going to be a big deal in my fics, because it's not a big deal in the movie and, honestly, I give Peter too much other shit to deal with for him to be focusing on his gender. However, this is one of the reasons I included Bradley. Peter needs to feel like he's a role model to somebody- he needs to feel important because honestly he's not going to be satisfied just with himself. 
> 
> I also hc Tony as having narcissistic personality disorder. It's a really tough thing to deal with, and there seems to be little to no positive representation in the media. When i see characters with personality disorders represented, they're always the villain or an obstacle. But personality disorders are difficult as hell and there's way more stigma against them than other mental illnesses. And narcissistic personalities seem to be the ones least sympathized with. People with these disorders can go on to be really great. Oprah, Alec Baldwin, and Elvis Presley are just a few examples of narcissistic people. 
> 
> If you ever want to talk to me about anything, it would be really, really awesome. I would love to hear your views on the fandom, or the movie, or the world, or honestly anything. 
> 
> I have a lot of ideas penned out, so be ready to see more painful stories from this guy. 
> 
> Comments are awesome
> 
> Repti-fandom-person.tumblr.com


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